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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25072003">a critical failure in mechanics</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lahtays/pseuds/lahtays'>lahtays</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Nightmares, don't ask me when this is set or what's going on lol, triss's tattoos cause riots at annual family reunions in case that isn't clear, your guess is as good as mine</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 02:42:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,692</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25072003</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lahtays/pseuds/lahtays</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Ava asks about the detective's strange tattoos. The detective gives an even stranger answer.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Detective/Ava du Mortain, Female Detective/Ava du Mortain</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>67</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>a critical failure in mechanics</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ava hears the stuttering heartbeat, the feverish pace of footfalls against thick tile floors, long before Beatrice reaches the end of the hall to tap a fist against the training room's doors. </p><p>"Come in, Detective." </p><p>It had been an accident to listen in on her night terror, to eavesdrop on something so <em>obviously</em> personal, and so <em>obviously</em> not pertaining to Ava herself in the slightest. It wasn't sentiment or care that drew her senses towards the detective's distress, she reasons, but simple, innocent, unavoidable<em> happenstance</em>. Standard late night absent mindedness, a lack of alternative sensory distractions, a professional duty of care towards a member of her team –  Ava counts a number of perfectly pragmatic reasons to hone in on the disturbance from Beatrice Maddox's room like a radio set to a single frequency. More than anything, and <em>most importantly</em>; it <em>had</em> been an accident. </p><p>And it had been an accident every other night this week as well.  </p><p>She watches the detective's reflection as it steps through the threshold of the room, holding Ava's gaze in the mirror with dark eyes ringed by darker circles, bleary and bloodshot from another stolen night's sleep. Beatrice wraps her tattooed arms around herself tightly as her gaze flickers away, making a beeline for the same bench she's found herself seated upon more than once these past few weeks under the Warehouse's roof. </p><p>Tonight marks the fifth such occasion. Ava would know. She's been counting.  </p><p>"Hey there, you. Sorry to keep dropping in like this." The unfamiliarly wilted quality of Beatrice's voice pulls Ava from the her thoughts, and she turns away from the mirror to face her directly instead. "I won't stay long, I just . . ." </p><p>Ava shrugs as Beatrice's voice trails to a halt. "You're welcome to stay as long as you see fit. The warehouse and its faculties belongs to everyone within the team, yourself included."  </p><p>A battle between uncertainty and exhaustion plays out on Beatrice's soft features, until at last she forces a weak smile and nods, taking her seat cross legged upon the bench. </p><p>Silence fills the expanse of floor between them, heavy and oppressive, before Ava finally swallows her nerves and makes to sit down besides the detective. Heartrate slowed, breathing steady again; it's only the tremble of her fingers, half concealed against the sides of her frayed blue sweater, that betray any hint of still lingering fear. Ava presses her lips together and says nothing, though as she watches, she finds her thoughts straying to Murphy, no doubt rotting this very second inside an Agency holding facility.  </p><p>It would be no great  challenge to find out which one in particular holds him. It would be easy, in fact, if she were ever inclined to pay him a visit in person. </p><p>The thought <em>is</em> a comfort, but perhaps not an immediate solution to the issue at hand. “There are a number of doctors at the Facility whom you might ask for assistance into the matter,” she offers instead. “The best in their fields, respectively." </p><p>“Huh?” </p><p>“For the nightmares.” </p><p>“Oh!” Like clockwork, Beatrice's face contorts just the way Ava expects; morphing with ease into a muscle memory smile, wholly fake but somehow still utterly convincing to anybody who isn't Ava. “They're just dreams. Not a big deal. Thank you, though.” </p><p>“If you are consistently losing sleep over it, then it may escalate to effect your performance, as well as jeopardize the team,” Ava presses. </p><p>It's a low blow, but fair and accurate – she shouldn't feel as guilty as she does to see the detective's cheery façade waver. Beatrice presses her dark-inked hands into her lap, staring intently, before she shakes her head. </p><p>“Seeing a shrink won't help,” she says with a smaller, far less believable smile. “I just need to eat better. Get to bed earlier. I won't jeopardize your team, Ava, I swear.” </p><p>“<em>Our</em> team." </p><p>“Sorry, yeah. Our team.” </p><p>“As Commanding Agent, I have a professional obligation to ensure the health and wellbeing of Bravo's agents. You are no exception, Detective.” </p><p>Beatrice doesn't answer, and Ava is glad for it. In truth, her concern is a great deal more complicated than <em>obligation</em> or <em>professionalism</em> or anything under the pretense of caring simply for <em>the good of the team</em>. Ava watches the dark haired, darked eyed woman from the corner of her vision, noting the way in which the simple act of slumping her shoulders seems to transform her form entirely. The bright, airy thing she claims to be isn't here right now. <em>Triss Maddox</em> isn't here right now.  </p><p>Ava doesn't know<em> who</em> this woman is, and it makes her nervous. </p><p>“Might I ask . . .” It's an absurd line of thought,  but instinct tells her the distraction might be a step in the right direction. Something to bring her back to herself. “That tattoo on your arm – yes, that one – does it mean anything?” </p><p>Beatrice double takes in unspoken surprise before recovering and glancing back down at the marking in question. Black ink peaks out from her rolled up sleeves in stark contrast against her rosy skin, and when she pulls the fabric back further, it reveals the full scope of a flawless Fibonacci spiral. </p><p>She laughs fondly at it, running her fingers over the marked surface. “<em>Order in nature</em>,” she explains. “It means the world has rules, makes sense, even when it . . . really, <em>really</em> doesn't.” After a moment, she shoots Ava a wry grin, and adds, “I don't know. I might have skipped that week back in high school. Looks pretty cute, though, right?” </p><p>“You call that <em>meaning</em> something?” Ava can only scoff as Beatrice tugs her sleeve back down.</p><p>Beatrice shrugs. “<em>I</em> don't call it anything at all.<em> You</em> asked,” </p><p>Ava rolls her eyes, only for them to catch on another piece, this time a small line of text riding the inside of her right ring finger. The canvas Beatrice makes of herself has never been of any real (or at least, vocal) interest to the vampire, but with the conversation in motion, she finds it surprisingly difficult to stop. “What of that one?” she asks in spite of herself. </p><p>“Oh, man. ‘<em>You are your own voyeur</em>’. Margaret Atwood.” Triss holds her finger out for Ava to read the fine line of print dotted into its side. </p><p>“Margaret Atwood?” </p><p>“Don't worry about it. It's a good quote, that's all.” </p><p>“And that one?” </p><p>Triss casts her index out along the exposed area of her collarbone, until Ava nods at a small black star just below the base of her neck. She snickers as she taps it proudly, her fatigue and her fear seeming to ease with each explanation. </p><p>“Got it after I saw <em>Pulp Fiction</em> for the first time. The one star symbolizes what I rated it, on account of it being the worst movie I've ever seen in my life.” She laughs in earnest now as Ava gives her a withering look. “Bet you'd feel the same if someone forced <em>you</em> to watch it, du Mortain. Explaining this one got me into some <em>very</em> funny fights in college, though, believe me.” </p><p>“I almost prefer your Fibonacci answer better,” Ava mutters. </p><p>She tilts her head. “Fibonacci? What’s that?” </p><p>“You can't be serious.” </p><p>“I’m not,” she chuckles. “But you're so easy to mess with.” </p><p>Maybe it's the lateness of the hour, or the quiet, or even in part due to Ava's own growing need for sleep, but she finds herself smiling despite the jest. Smiling <em>because</em> of the jest.  </p><p>
  <em>Not a good sign. </em>
</p><p>She thinks to pull away before the conversation between them grows any softer, only instead to find her eyes flickering down involuntarily, locking onto to the one strange marking she always seems to come back to.  </p><p>“And . . . what about that one?” Ava asks, nodding at the bolded question mark on the side of Beatrice's wrist. Lacking outward interest or otherwise, there's always been something <em>uncomfortable</em> about that one in particular that often lingers in Ava's thoughts. If not for the lack of ink around it, then for the faint, sinister looking scar it tries but doesn't quite manage to conceal. Farah had asked early on, and then Nate later, and neither one of those quickly dismissive answers had been enough to fully sate Ava’s nagging intrigue. </p><p>Triss smiles. It's her liar's smile again. “Which one?” she asks quietly. </p><p>“On your hand.” </p><p>“The triquetra?” </p><p>“No, not the – <em>that</em> one.” </p><p>Ava would be more irritated if she weren't so wrapped up in her own curiosity - it's that same curiosity that dares her to lean forwards and wrap a hand around the brunette woman's wrist, tugging her forwards slightly to tap at the glyph in question. Ava watches the hairs on Beatrice’s arms stand on end at the touch as if it were full of static, and it might as well be, for the jolt it sends along the tendons of her own arm, also. </p><p>Triss doesn't look at the marking; in fact, she seems to keep her gaze directly pointed away from it when she finally forces a snort. “Well. <em>That's</em> the question, isn't it?” </p><p>“And so what's the answer?” Ava frowns. </p><p>The detective tugs her hand away, covering the question mark and the scar below it with her other palm. “Why the sudden interest in my tattoos, Ava?” she asks back, still hiding behind the upturned corners of her mouth. “The answer . . . well, it's less about the answer, really. It's not worth getting into.” </p><p>“And the scar beneath?” </p><p>“<em>Not</em> worth getting into.” </p><p>“Why get a tattoo if you do not wish to discuss it?”  </p><p>“It’s - it's getting late, I should –" </p><p>“You seem frightened.” </p><p>“Just tired.” Her smile wobbles and falters in full transparency now, like some ill timed, critical failure in mechanics. Ava hears her heartbeat quicken in her chest, her pulse erratic not unlike someone in the midst of a panic attack. Guilt churns in Ava's stomach, but also something else she can't quite put a finger on. Sorrow? Worry? Protectiveness? </p><p>Whatever it is, it fizzles into disappointment as Beatrice stands abruptly, crossing her arms defensively and shoving her hands into her sides. “It was not my intention to cause you any distress,” Ava murmurs. The words hold a weakness to them that makes her frown deepen. </p><p>“You didn't, it's . . . it's okay.” Triss shakes her head dismissively, her smile all but gone.  “But it <em>is</em> getting late, and I do think I should work on getting some more sleep like I said I would.” </p><p>“As you wish, then.”  </p><p>Ava looks to the floor, not meeting her eye as Beatrice stares. A beat of uncertain silence passes between then before Triss bites her lip and nods, murmuring a goodbye and turning on her heels to leave.  </p><p>She takes two steps towards the door before Ava gives in. “Detective?” </p><p>She turns, and Ava clears her throat. She didn’t entirely think this last part through. “Whatever it is you're afraid of . . . I hope you know that I – <em>the team and I</em> are here, should you ever require us. For any reason.” </p><p>Now it's Triss's turn to frown, fingers tightening around herself as she shivers into her sweater. She shifts on her weight uncomfortably for a long moment, mouth opening and closing with some confusion before she finally settles on a reply. </p><p>“It's just . . . something I thought I saw in the woods when I was a kid. Or, something I <em>did</em> see. Details are blurry, and it's even harder to know for sure now, what with my wacky blood to consider, and all.” She forces a laugh so false it makes her grimace, and then she shakes her head again. “Anyway, it . . . well, I ran the hell away from it, as kids do, and when I fell – a good twenty five minutes later, I'm guessing – I got the nasty scar to commemorate it. There's not much else to say, really. Hence, the question mark.” </p><p>Ava observes her in silence for a long time, noting the dying embers of her smile and the way the memory seems to play about in the dark shadows of her eyes. </p><p>This time, when Ava reaches across the small space between them to take Beatrice's hand in her own, it isn't a jolt she feels, but a surge. She doesn't think to pull away; she doesn't think she truly <em>wants</em> to, either. Triss bites her lip and watches as Ava ghosts along the inked skin again, this time tracing the scar beneath it.  </p><p>She doesn't fully register her own thoughts until she hears them echo audibly in her own ears. “I often thought your initial reaction to the Supernatural was . . . remarkably calm, to say the least. I hadn't considered that it might be due in part to you experiencing something prior to your exposure to the Agency.” </p><p>Triss doesn't seem to hear her, still focused fully on Ava's hand entwined around hers, her thumb brushing over the old injury with a delicate care that gives her away all but completely. </p><p>She doesn't understand how anybody can be so<em> soft.</em></p><p>Finally, Ava lets her hand drop back to her side with no small degree of effort, careful not to let her expression betray her as her fingers just did. Triss absently rubs a hand over the space where Ava had touched her, and when she finally manages to break the strange spell she's under, her eyes flicker up meet Ava's. </p><p> “I don't really know for sure,” she says. For all her uncertainty, her heartbeat is beginning to slow again. “I haven't talked to anybody about this – Rebecca included. I . . . well, I don't really want to get into it, if that's alright. And, if we could keep this between – ” </p><p>“It won't leave this room.” Ava feels herself nod quickly. “I'm glad you trusted me enough to talk about it.” </p><p>The brunette woman meets her eye and offers her a hesitate, but very real smile. Ava thinks it feels like having her legs kicked out from under her. </p><p>“I do trust you,” she agrees, and Ava swallows. “Thanks for listening. I . . . well I should –“ </p><p>“Of course. You should sleep.” </p><p>Beatrice nods. “Right.”  </p><p>“And - one more thing,” Ava murmurs, “before you go.” </p><p>“Yeah?” </p><p>“I don't want you to be afraid of this anymore. It’s unnecessary.” </p><p>“Oh.” </p><p>The detective's features deflate – the opposite of what Ava had intended – and so she tries again. “What I mean to say is that you're safe. I won't let anything else hurt you, Beatrice.” </p><p>She thinks she hears the other woman's heart stutter, thought it may very well be her own. “And by <em>you</em>, you mean Unit Bravo, right? Our team?” Triss asks. </p><p>“I mean<em> I</em>. Myself.” </p><p>“Oh.” </p><p>It's too late to take it back or deflect, so she simply sits in it, waiting for who-knows-what whilst quietly and thoroughly imploding inside. Beatrice tugs at the sleeves of her sweater, her expression thoughtful and serene but otherwise unreadable. She looks up, unsmiling, but the warmth almost feels more genuine because of it. </p><p>“I – I should really get to bed. Thank you for this. Really. It means more than I can say.” </p><p>“Think nothing of it.” </p><p>“Goodnight, Ava.” </p><p>“Sleep well, Detective.” </p><p>Ava turns back to the mirror and watches as the reflection of the detective departs without another word, waiting until the beat of her heartbeat fades into simple, merciful white noise once more.  </p><p>When it does, and when she finally hears Triss's bedroom door close shut with a short click, Ava lets out a ragged breath, and lets her forehead fall forwards to press against the mirror. She closes her eyes. Counts her breaths – <em>one, two, three, four, five</em> – and the repeats the cycle another ten times more, just to be certain. </p><p>When she finally straightens back up and greets the accusatory eye of her own reflection, she finds all her well thought out justifications turn to weak excuses in the shadow of her own foolish, yearning desires. </p><p>She shouldn't have indulged in this tonight. Shouldn’t have given in to every touch, every word, every warm and authentic smile. It was a simple, very unfortunate mistake. Another <em>accident</em>. </p><p>It will be an accident <em>tomorrow</em>, too, she's has no doubt. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thanks so much for reading ! i'm not fully sure what this even IS lol but it's been in my wips folder for ages and i figured i might as well do smth with it, so here it is lmao</p><p>anyway i hope you enjoyed! if so, kudos and comments are always appreciated, otherwise you can contact me via my tumblr @ lavellane !</p></blockquote></div></div>
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